


Captivated

by Ghiacciolite



Category: House of Wax (2005)
Genre: Breeding, Cock Warming, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Grinding, Kissing, Missionary Position, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Sex, and want him to step on you, its not a foot fetish fic if you just really like his shoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29783328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghiacciolite/pseuds/Ghiacciolite
Summary: Vincent Sinclair steps on you. That's pretty much the main gist of the fic.
Relationships: Vincent Sinclair/You
Kudos: 17





	Captivated

**Author's Note:**

> I started this a few days ago at like 4am when I couldn't sleep, and every time I took a nap, went to sleep, or just woke up, I wrote a little more. I didn't write even one word of this while fully awake except the title, but I hope it's still a good enough fic that you'll enjoy reading it!

Vincent gently pushed you backwards, his hand cradling the back of your head as he lowered you to the floor. You belonged to him and if he wanted to he could have so easily smashed your head against the hard floor like a watermelon, but Vincent couldn’t get another muse as easily as he could a melon.

Your head met the soft fabric of his discarded jacket, and you stared up at him, wide eyed and curious. You had been his for several months now, and while you had grown terribly fond of the artist, you could never quite figure out what he was thinking, or if he even really liked you as anything more than just a model.

“Vincent… What are you doing?” You asked nervously as he pushed your knees apart, your underwear on full display. Vincent had seen you naked more times than you could count, capturing your likeness in a variety of poses and artistic mediums, and it wasn’t like you were allowed to wear much clothing anyway, but you still couldn’t help but feel your face warm up. It was just such a _lewd_ position to be in…

As you expected, Vincent said nothing. The closest you received to any kind of reply was his thumb tracing your slit through your underwear.

Your hands went over your mouth, stifling a gasp that threatened to slip out. Vincent stopped, grabbed your wrists, and pulled your hands away from your face, setting them down on either side of you. Whatever he was planning, he wanted to hear every sound you made.

Vincent stepped back from you, standing at his full height and admiring you from a higher angle. Your body aligned so perfectly with his aesthetic sensibilities, the kind of person he had imagined during his sleep as a young man, urging him from the darkness to create breathtaking works of art.

He lifted his boot, and they looked different to you than usual. Had Vincent cleaned his boots? _Why?_

Your question was answered when he brought his boot down on your crotch, just barely hard enough to make you feel the sole pressing down lightly. He held it there, watching as your eyes trailed their way up from his boots to his mask, the expression he had underneath was completely imperceptible.

Your mouth opened, likely to again ask what the hell he was doing, only to close quickly again once he started to move. Vincent pressed his boot against your core, grinding the sole into your underwear, twisting the material until it was a ripped and tangled mess.

It felt so strange, so unlike anything you had ever felt before, and every time the rough material of the toe rubbed against your clit your breath hitched. It was painful, but not in a particularly _bad_ way. As unusual as it was, you were beginning to get off to the slow motions of his boot.

Your hips tilted upwards, making it all the easier for him to continue his ministrations, watching every little movement you made and committing it to memory. He would undoubtedly be sketching his recollection of the event later.

“V-Vincent, please… _please…_ ” You tried to beg, but no further words seemed to come in mind, your brain felt as if it was filled with fuzzy static, barely able to form words at all. Your weren’t sure if you liked what he was doing or not, but the effect it was having on you was undeniable.

Vincent tilted his head, taking in an all new angle for him to view your pleasurable torment from. You looked a mess, your pupils blown wide, drool inching its way past the corners of your lips, and your cunt soaking through your underwear. He could see how close you were to your climax.

So he pulled his boot back, cutting you off from the sensations it caused. The look you gave him was one of disbelief and hurt. You knew Vincent could be a teasing bastard, but stopping just then just seemed _low._

Your opinion of him quickly changed, however, when he turned from you, removing his mask to make taking off his sweater easier, before stripping the rest of his clothing off, putting his mask back on, and turning to face you.

He crawled on top of you, wax mask almost pressed against your face. The few pieces of clothing you had still clinging to your body were ripped away like paper, leaving you completely bare before him. He didn’t take his eyes off you for a second as he slid his cock inside your willing cunt, taking in every minute detail of your expression, every sigh and moan that escaped your lips, even the slight twitch of your nose was cataloged in his mind.

Your hands were wrenched from their place on the ground, and wrapped around his shoulders, a placement you didn’t mind in the least as your hands played with his waxy hair.

He moved slowly, savoring the way your walls fluttered and clenched around him, warm and inviting, calling him to go deeper, to press his hips as close to your own as possible. A subconscious part deep in his mind screamed at him to breed you, to keep you tied to him forever, to make it further evident to everyone around that you were _his._

Vincent rocked his hips against your own, pulling out just enough to make your eyes roll back with every subsequent thrust. They were slow, but powerful, forceful.

Your fingers worked their way up his hair, wrapping around strands and sections until you reached the base of his scalp, pulling his hair and causing him to speed up, the wet sounds of his cock stirring into your depths filled the room.

Vincent’s hand slid between your bodies, going further south until he reached your clit. He began to rub his thumb gently in circular motions, making you arch your back and fuck upwards, impaling yourself further on his cock, wanting to feel everything he could give you.

His free hand moved to his face, lifting his mask just enough to expose his mouth, which latched on to yours, denying you even that small glimpse of his face.

Vincent’s tongue shoved its way into your willing mouth, entwining with your own and taking in the way you tasted. His lips were surprisingly softer than you expected, the parts that felt scarred and torn barely registered in your mind. All you wanted was him, every part of him, even the scarred parts, the pieces that showed he faced adversity and hardship, but survived whatever life had thrown at him and brought him into your life. You didn’t care what he looked like, you were too enamored.

All his earlier efforts paid off, and you came around him, your orgasm hitting you hard and making you see stars as every little sensation came together at once.

His hips began to lose their even pattern of motion, all reason and logic for his thrusts lost to the pure pursuit of his own pleasure. He steadied himself with a hand beside your head, speeding up and deepening the kiss he shared with you. Vincent’s body was pressed as closely to yours as humanly possible, and with a moan muffled against your mouth, he came inside you, hips continuing to piston until he was completely spent. He pulled his face away from your own, a shared trail of saliva the only remaining connection between your mouth and his own mysterious face.

His hand pulled away from your sensitive clit, fixing his mask before going to your back. He rubbed softly, gentle motions that made you almost ignore the feeling of his cock softening inside of you. A quiet, almost sweet sounding, hum came from behind his mask, and you realized how exhausted you had become. 

You nuzzled your face against his mask, whispering a “Thank you.” to the artist who held your heart as captivated as he held the rest of you. Your eyelids became heavy, and you soon fell asleep beneath him, feeling comfortable and safe for the first time since arriving in Ambrose.


End file.
